


Captain America's Stamp of Approval

by Neurotoxia



Category: Marvel, Marvel (Comics), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Humor, M/M, Miscommunication, Sexual Content, Tattoos, Underage Drinking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-30
Updated: 2016-08-30
Packaged: 2018-08-12 02:05:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,444
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7916200
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Neurotoxia/pseuds/Neurotoxia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tony Stark, rampant Captain America fanboy that he is, got a tramp stamp of Cap’s shield during a drunken night out at university. It’s been there for so long he kind of forgets he has it until decades later when he finally has a chance to get frisky with Steve. Right there, Tony remembers that he’s the once proud owner of a Captain America <em>tramp stamp</em>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Captain America's Stamp of Approval

**Author's Note:**

> My first foray into the black hole that is Steve/Tony. Civil War sealed my fate *shakes fist*. Many thanks to crookedspoon for their excellent assistance and reassurance. This is a fill for the Cap/Iron Man Bingo square 'I’ve got you written on my skin (branded on my soul)' which sort of begs for a Soulmate AU, but I couldn't get past the idea of Tony with a Cap tattoo.
> 
> Comments, kudos and feedback are much appreciated and guaranteed to make my day ♥

Tony does a little happy dance on the inside when he finally, finally gets to push Steve through the door leading to his bedroom, fully aware that he can only do that because Steve lets him, and finds himself hauled against the inside of the door as soon as it closes behind them. God, yes, that’s hot. Even if the handle is digging into his back and will leave a mark if Steve keeps pressing against him like that. Tony would rather he have an imprint of Steve’s hand on his ass, but he might save that for another time.

Seducing the great national icon; Howard would have kittens if he knew and Tony hopes the old man is spinning in his grave just a little. Not at the idea of Captain America sleeping with men; for a man of his time and alpha male proclivities, Howard had been remarkably unconcerned with whom anyone chose to sleep with. But _Tony_ wining, dining and seducing Steve? Howard would hate that. All the more reason for Tony to be doing it.

“Tony,” Steve gasps against his lips when Tony fiddles with Steve’s belt buckle. One of Steve’s shiny new ones. Tony still needs to thank Nat for assistance with Steve’s wardrobe. Other than Tony, she’s the only one who has an eye for fashion on this team (and Tony found it a little unsettling how she’d practically pounced on the chance to dress up Steve) and no scruples to ignore Steve’s protest when he argues over throwing out an ugly sweater.

Steve takes Tony’s movements as encouragement, sneaking his own hands around Tony’s waist, thumbs digging a little into his hip bones and the rest pulling Tony’s shirt out of his slacks to get at the bare skin underneath, fingers splaying along the small of Tony’s back. It’s right where he wants Steve’s hands, fingertips pressing a pattern right into the tatt–

Oh God.

Oh God, no.

Tony will deny the distinctly unmanly squeak that spills out of him until his dying day. He will order JARVIS to disavow all knowledge of it.

With great haste, he squirrels out of Steve’s hold, leaves the poor man dumbfounded, staring at Tony with a blush spreading all over his face and confusion in his eyes.

He’s going to _kill_ Rhodey.

* * *

_“That’s a bad idea if I’ve ever heard one,” Rhodey says, speech slightly slurred but with the same disapproving glare he’s specially reserved for Tony’s antics. “And I’m the one hanging out with a sixteen-year-old kid with a penchant for explosives and alcohol, often at the same time.”_

_“It’s an excellent idea, honey bear,” Tony grins and wiggles his hips in front of the mirror where the lineart of stylised rings and a star sits in smudged blue on the small of his back, right above his tailbone._

_“A Captain America tramp stamp?” Rhodey snorts then lowers his voice. “Not to mention you’re underage and I question the professional integrity of a guy who’s doing this to a drunk client whose ID he hasn’t even checked.”_

_“If you can still say ‘professional integrity’ you’re not nearly drunk enough,” Tony sing-songs._

_“You can say ‘professional integrity’,” Rhodey points out._

_“I’m a genius.” Tony’s grin is wolfish while he gives the tattooist behind them a thumbs up._

_“You’re gonna regret this,” Rhodey says and raises an eyebrow. “Don’t come running to me if you get Hep C and the girls start laughing when they see your ass.”  
_

* * *

Rhodey the fucking traitor let him run into the open knife. Hadn’t knocked him out and carried him out of the parlour over his shoulder. He’s going to make War Machine play Karma Chameleon on a loop for all of eternity. Or something that involves Judas in its lyrics.

This robs Tony of nearly three decades of gloating. No Hep C and no woman or man who got to see him naked laughed at him. Arched eyebrows and amused glances excluded. A couple of admissions that they used to have a crush on Captain America, just like Tony. Mostly he forgets it’s there, ink somewhat faded and the outlines around the blue and red rings a little blurred with age.

He needs to send Pepper a basket of Louboutins and apologise for not taking her up on the regular suggestion that he go get laser treatment and remove it. Tony used to wave her off, muttering _no time, who even cares_ when he’s disappeared halfway into the guts of one engine or another, shirt riding up to reveal Captain America’s shield to Pepper’s eyes.

She hasn’t suggested it in a long time, ever since she’s become his CEO and isn’t around as much to chase him down for appointments and meetings and galas.

Another piece of evidence that he should always listen to Pepper, because if he had he wouldn’t be standing here, staring at Steve an inch away from his face. Steve’s hair is mussed where Tony threaded his fingers through it and Christ, he looks even more delectable like that. Tony wants to weep. Steven Rogers, the star of many of his filthy daydreams since roughly 1985, sports a raging erection against Tony’s thigh and Tony can’t get naked in front of him.

“Tony?” Steve asks, out of breath and looking at Tony with the confused puppy dog eyes that would make Tony swoon like a maiden if they were in Victorian England.

“Cold hands,” Tony squawks. Jesus, can’t his vocal cords keep it together at least? 

“Oh, sorry,” Steve says and stares at his fingers. “They’re not usually cold.”

No, because Steve is a damn furnace with his super-soldier metabolism and there’s nothing cold about his fingers at all. It’s summer for God’s sake. And the man believes him anyway, bless his naive heart.

“Surprised me, is all,” Tony mutters and turns the suave back up to eleven.

He needs to steer this around and dazzle Steve so much that the guy forgets to remove Tony’s clothes. Tomorrow, he’s going to have the thing sizzled off. He’s going to throw money at a guy with laser equipment. Hell, he’s going to build it himself if he has to.

Steve may not be a blushing virgin, but he’s not experienced either. Tony had plans to take this slower than his usual speed, he hasn’t dragged Steve into bed within ten minutes of first kissing him. (Tony still wants to pat himself on the back for that – he’s wanted to climb Steve like a tree ever since he met him. Even when they were at each other’s throats.) They were on their third date tonight, tucked into the back of a Vietnamese soup bar, shovelling Pho into their mouths and giving Tony an addiction to Vietnamese iced coffee. The furtive touches above and under the table had been enough to nearly make Tony leap across the furniture and ravish Steve right there in front of all the other diners. He wouldn’t have minded, it’s long since been established that Tony has neither shame nor dignity. Too bad Steve has some of both left and might consider it a bad example if Captain America had sex in public.

It’s a miracle they made it back to the tower, if only because Steve wasn’t comfortable getting off in Tony’s car with Happy in the front. Not that Happy would disapprove – he’s seen so much worse.

And it had actually been Steve who took the lead, asked if Tony minded if he spent the night at the penthouse. It’s made Tony want to sink to his knees right there in the lift. But Steve deserves to receive his first blowjob from Tony writhing on the twelve hundred thread count Egyptian cotton sheets he keeps on his bed.

Which is exactly where Tony has him right now, pulling tricks from his metaphorical playboy hat to make Steve forget that while Tony got him naked in two seconds flat, Tony isn’t relinquishing his briefs and not shrugging off his open dress shirt.

In Steve’s defense, it’s easy to lose focus when someone swallows your whole dick without preamble. Tony wanted to save deepthroating for Steve’s birthday or Thanksgiving (because wow, does he want to give thanks for Steve), but this constitutes as an emergency and Tony has never been above playing dirty. Perhaps fingering his perineum is overkill, but it sure makes Steve forget about Tony’s lack of nudity and gives him that dishevelled, well-fucked look to help Tony along when he tugs his briefs down just enough to move his slicked hand over his own erection. Really, Tony shouldn’t be this pleased that he graduated from coming on a poster of Captain America to coming on Captain America, but he is regardless.

* * *

The next day, Tony finds out that not every problem is in fact solved by throwing money at it. Not even if it’s a lot of money. As it turns out, it’s not a problem to get an appointment with a top notch doctor within the hour when your last name is Stark, but even then they’ll tell you that Tony’s little back problem will require multiple sessions over several months with no guarantee of 100% success.

Unacceptable.

Tony can’t be celibate for months. Not when there’s naked Steve Rogers to be had and willing. Very willing and very enthusiastic as it turns out. He can’t deny Steve the pleasure of Tony’s body, Tony is altruistic like that.

He also can’t build a laser to get rid of the thing without risking permanent injury. There’s a definitive shade of glee in JARVIS’ voice when he announces that there is no scientific possibility to give Tony the desired result within twenty-four hours and would he like to contact Stephen Strange for magical assistance.

Tony would not. Tony hates magic and wouldn’t let Strange touch him with a ten-foot-pole if he were on fire.

* * *

If Tony has ever had reason to be grateful for his extensive creativity and knowledge in the bedroom, it would be now. Else he would have run out of ways to have sex and keep his shirt on after a few days.

Steve’s body seems to have remembered that it’s biologically twenty-something and just suffered through a period of seventy years of celibacy – the floodgates have opened and Steve is ready to go at the drop of a hat. Tony loves it but it also makes him want to weep. He really must have pissed someone off in a previous life.

One time, Steve makes a move for his shirt, but Tony slithers out of reach and wrestles Steve around, then proceeds to rim him until Steve sees stars and has become a babbling mess who wouldn’t be able to recall what a shirt was if it danced the Macarena in front of him. Good save on Tony’s part but he can only pull that so often.

In bed (or the supply closet, or Tony’s private jet) it’s easy for Tony to distract Steve with sex, but Tony is a lot less inconspicuous when he locks the door to shower, doesn’t change when Steve is around and wears t-shirts and boxers to bed despite being fully aware that everyone in the Tower knows Tony usually sleeps in the nude. Tony hasn’t exactly kept the latter a secret. After the Avengers had just moved in there were one or two incidents where Tony had forgotten he wasn’t living alone anymore and walked into the kitchen to gather his morning coffee in his birthday suit and an open silk robe. It was awkward. Not for Tony, since he possesses, as previously established, no shame (there have been pictures of his bare crotch in the tabloids, what’s a few more people), but Steve went beet red, Clint shouted about needing bleach for his retinas and Bruce suggested he throw on some clothes before Thor sees him and starts thinking naked breakfast is a thing on Midgard. Thor possesses even less shame than Tony – and who can blame him, the guy is a work of art. Not quite as much as Steve is in Tony’s not-so-humble opinion, but he won’t be able to goad Steve into walking around the team areas naked. Tony would really love to show off what he has and the others don’t.

Steve’s frown is ever growing and Tony sometimes wonders if he were better off just telling Steve. Steve is a sensible man and Tony had let on that he’d been a fan of Captain America as a kid. But Steve also likes to keep the distinction between Captain America and Steve Rogers clear and Tony with his tramp stamp looks like a groupie scoring a rockstar they’re obsessed with. Nevermind that Tony and Cap were at each other’s throats for a good long while back at the beginning. These days Tony is head over heels for Steve Rogers though he occasionally still wants to have mindblowing hate sex with Captain America when he’s once again been a mulish, inflexible hardass in the field.

Tony sometimes forgets that Steve Rogers too can be a stubborn hardass if you test his patience long enough. Trying to wiggle out of Steve’s grip and the question as to why Tony is so weird about undressing in front of him might have been the proverbial last straw.

‘“Tony!” 

Damnit. It’s that look – that Captain America is Disappointed in You look and it’s hardly fair to level it at Tony. Steve knows Tony is defenceless against it.

Tony pulls a face. “I don’t want to.”

“Why?”

“You’ll laugh,” Tony sighs.

“I won’t,” Steve says and could he look any more earnest?

“Oh, you will. And you should.”

“Did you grow a tail?” Steve asks.

“A what?”

“We fought the Enchantress a while back,” Steve says and shrugs. “Maybe she hit you with a spell.”

“No, Steve, I did not grow a tail,” Tony sputters. A tail, seriously? Like Tony would ever be ashamed of that. He’d _rock_ a bushy, fluffy tail like nobody’s business, thank you very much.

“Damnit Tony, will you just tell me?!” Now Steve glowers.

Well, there’s nothing to it, is there? It was probably a little optimistic to think he could hide his lower back from Steve forever.

“Tramp stamp,” Tony mumbles and faux inspects his fingernails.

“What?”

“It’s a–” Tony starts and trails off. “...JARVIS?”

“A ‘tramp stamp’ is a derogatory term referring to a lower back tattoo. The placement was especially popular with women in the nineties and early 2000s and have gained a socially constructed connotation of sexual promiscuity,” JARVIS intones and Tony watches Steve’s eyebrows crawl towards his hairline.

“You kick up a fuss about a tattoo?” Steve asks. “What, because I’m from the Forties and might swoon when I see one?”

Tony groans. This is going to go so poorly.

“My sensibilities are not that delicate.”

“It’s not about that,” Tony sighs and wants to hide under the covers.

“If I may, Captain Rogers,” JARVIS butts in, “as sir is so eloquently attempting to circumvent the issue: sir’s embarrassment is due to the design of the tattoo, not its placement.”

“One more word and I’m rewriting your code,” Tony threatens.

“Of course, sir,” JARVIS replies. Was that sass? Definitely sass.

“Undress and turn around,” Steve orders in his no-nonsense Captain voice and Tony has to suppress a near Pavlovian reaction to obey. When Captain America tells you to drop your pants, you drop your pants.

“Normally, I’d love to comply, but–”

“Now.”

Tony estimates he’s about five seconds from Steve doing it himself and really, Steve has no regard for Tony’s sinfully expensive dress shirts when he’s in a mood. Tony likes this shirt. It’s smooth black silk and Tony looks great in black. Actually, he looks great in everything but that’s not the point he’s trying to make.

“Keep your hair on, Cap,” Tony grumbles and loses his tie and cufflinks, followed by his trousers and socks. He unbuttons his shirt as slowly as he can get away with and slips out of it, throwing over the back of a chair.

Tony hooks his thumbs into the waistband of his pants at the back, throwing Steve a sharp look. “I swear to God, if you laugh, Rogers…”

He turns around just in time to feel the blush spreading across his cheeks (and isn’t that a feat? Tony Stark hasn’t blushed easily since at least 1984) and tugs the elastic down just enough that the entire fucking thing becomes visible.

And the bastard doesn’t even try to contain his laughter.

“Oh my God, Tony,” he cackles while Tony sputters and pulls his briefs back up. “I’m sorry, but–”

“Yes, it’s embarrassing, thank you,” Tony grumbles and crosses his arms, turning to face Steve who wipes tears from his eyes. Well, Tony loves to be entertaining.

“I was thinking unexpected,” Steve says, still unable to hold in the giggles. “With the way you were behaving, I thought you were breaking up with me or something.”

“I–what?”

Okay, in a different light, it does look like Tony had been trying to keep Steve at a distance.

“It looks old,” Steve says and nudges Tony around to get another look at the shield. “When did you get it?”

“Sixteen,” Tony mumbles.

“It’s cute,” Steve chuckles and rubs his thumb over the small of Tony’s back, tracking the circles.

Tony groans. “I was a drunk teenager with a horrible crush on Captain America. That is so far from cute.”

“I disagree,” Steve hums and tugs Tony’s underwear all the way down, fingers caressing his buttocks.

Tony groans again, this time on a decidedly happier note and lets his head hang to enjoy Steve’s fingers on his back down to his thighs. “You’re a stubborn, stubborn man, Rogers.”

“Mhm,” Steve hums, absent-minded in his tone and still stroking at a languid pace. Tony’s dick is starting to become interested in the proceedings. “What would sixteen-year-old-Tony say about your situation right now?”

“Sixteen-year-old-Tony would be wondering who laced his pot with acid because he’s on a wild trip where Captain America is nipping at his ass,” Tony snorts, but he’s unable to contain the shivers travelling down his spine because Steve’s focus is entirely on Tony’s ass and Steve’s focus is a beautiful if nearly overwhelming thing. “But he’d also be yelling why I’m still just standing there and not tackling you to the ground to have my wicked, debauched way with you.”

“The only one who’s getting their way tonight is me,” Steve says and there’s a purring quality to his voice that nearly makes Tony’s knees wobble. If he hadn’t already been rock hard, he would be now.

“Fuck, yes,” Tony hisses and spins around.

Tony’s happy that this isn’t his sixteen-year-old self because that guy would have come on the spot at the sight of a slightly ruffled Steve Rogers staring at him with the hunger he usually reserves for prime rib.

And who knew that forty-plus Tony would be into being carried to bed caveman style?

* * *

“I guess I can now officially claim that my ass belongs to Captain America,” Tony mumbles into Steve’s pectoral while the man tangles his fingers in Tony’s hair, scratching lightly across his scalp. He will be sore tomorrow and he can feel two bruises forming where Steve’s thumbs dug into Tony’s tattoo while Steve had him on his hands and knees.

“Mhm,” Steve hums in agreement. “It’s a very nice ass.”

Steve will surely be embarrassed later about manhandling Tony like that, but Tony likes it a little rough. He also might have goaded Steve into abandoning restraint and gallantry. It was a sight to behold. Tony is already plotting wall sex, because Steve is actually strong enough to hold him up.

“Isn’t it just?”

“It has my stamp of approval,” Steve deadpans and Tony shoots upright.

“Did you just–” Tony says and narrows his eyes at Steve who turns on his ten-thousand-watt-and-wholesome-smile, radiating wide-eyed innocence. That’s it, Steve is never interacting with JARVIS again. His AI’s sass is rubbing off on Steve. Tony can’t have two of these in the house.

“Oh my God, you did,” Tony groans and hits Steve square in the face with a pillow to drown out his barking laughter. “I’m so getting rid of the thing.”

“No you’re not,” Steve laughs as he shoves off the pillow, dragging Tony down for a thorough kiss that leaves them both breathless.

“Okay, maybe not,” Tony says and grins. “But if I’m not allowed to get rid of it: how do you feel about a matching Iron Man tattoo?”


End file.
